


This Last Night

by Sunshine170



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine170/pseuds/Sunshine170
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should know better than to jump into this with the conviction that he feels. After all who are they to decide for the world, to meddle with past, present and future and reset the path of humanity, embark upon this unilateral course correction?</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Last Night

This last night, they hold each other.

The proximity is partly out of necessity, forced as they are to share a single camp cot, given the addition of their two new house guests.

It's not that either of them hopes to sleep, or rest even. But it's better than having to think about what comes at dawn.

Tomorrow they save the world…once again.

It's been twenty one years since he has slept in the same bed with his wife and yet it's not half as romantic a reunion as it should be. Marital accord is a fickle sentiment he decides, easily quelled by uncomfortable thin mattresses and scratchy sheets and the general overall fatigue of battling evil incarnate.

His mind conjures up a distant memory, of lying between warm and creamy three hundred thread count linens and an unbelievably soft duvet, the spicy scent of Olivia's favorite brand of luxury candles burning on the nightstand, soft jazz playing in the background, him reading, her on her laptop finishing up paperwork, exchanging the occasional piece of conversation.

The companionable silence of marriage has carried over even if the material comforts are long gone.

"I think I liked our old bed better…." He's helpless to murmur against her hair as he stares at the cobwebbed ceiling vacantly,

"It was a great bed." She says, her voice low as her head rests against his chest.

When they'd moved into their house they'd bought almost all new furniture, but the bed from her old apartment stayed. Olivia was sentimental about it for reasons he never clearly understood, but suspected had much to do with their daughter's conception in it.

 _It was a great life…_  he thinks.

"What are you thinking?" She asks him then.

"About Etta."

The inward suction of air is sharp, noticeable as is the involuntary tremble travelling through her spine tingling on the palm that presses against her back.

She falls silent.

This last night, he thinks of Etta, at eighteen months, diapered and dressed in green overalls, seated on her high chair, round blue eyes wide and baffled as they curiously follow the silver dollar roll on his knuckles, before disappearing in his palm, clapping in glee at his performance.

At five months, her head nestling against his chest, ear pressed to sternum as she breaths small warm puffs of air against his skin. She's almost asleep, but not quite there yet, droopy eyelids and restless limbs that fidget half-heartedly in resistance to the rocking motion he has learnt to work effortlessly by then. He holds her till she sniffles in defeat and burrows further against his chest, hand fisting into his shirt before settling into a comfortable slumber.

And then he holds her some more.

He thinks of the times he took her swimming at the Blodgget Pool, all of two and a half and already a heartbreaker, charming the entire Harvard men's water polo team effortlessly with her relentless giggling and splashing as he futilely attempts to inject some discipline into her lessons, paddling away from his grip every time he tries to get her to swim in a straight line.

A tiny mass of unrestrained energy in a purple bathing suit hurling into the blue chlorinated depths before emerging above water a few feet away from him with a wicked, triumphant smile.

He thinks of her at twenty- four, on a midnight train, looking at him, begging him to know her.

It's limited and yet infinite, this repository of memories he hides within the inner most walls of his consciousness, even from Olivia.

In their intertwined paths of life, these are some reminiscences that belong to him alone, moments he has sorted carefully and claimed ownership over.

They had so little time after all, it's not selfish to want some things to be his and no one else's.

He thinks of all the time his daughter looked at him like he was the centre of her world and the way it used to make him feel.

And more than anything, he wants to feel like that again.

"I think about her too you know." She speaks up then.

It's an invitation, to tell her what was on his mind. She's been trying hard to get him to talk and he wants, he really wants more than anything to tell her the thoughts that keep him sane, the threads of hope he clings to every second of every day.

But what could he tell her that she didn't already feel.

"I keep thinking about everything we missed…that maybe we'll get a chance to be there for her this time, if we get her back Liv…."

"When we get her back." She corrects him.

"When we get her back." He repeats, feeling audacious for saying it out loud.

* * *

This last night, he thinks about Walter.

It's sickening how easy the choice to do nothing is.

Losing Walter in exchange for making the world better.

It never occurs to him to think anything wrong of it

It should be a harder decision than this, he thinks. It shouldn't be so easy for him to allow his father to sacrifice himself.

He should know better than to jump into this with the conviction that he feels. After all who are they to decide for the world, to meddle with past, present and future and reset the path of humanity, embark upon this unilateral course correction?

Lives will be saved yes, thousands, maybe millions.

But what of all the lives changed, of fates overhauled. How many happy endings will be undone in the process?

After all, good things happen in terrible situations. No one's life was a better exemplar of this than his and he can't help thinking that the reversal wouldn't be without any fallouts.

The last time, he had been that fallout.

How many unknown will pay the price he once paid, have their pasts rewritten, futures altered without their consent, bear an externality they had no part in influencing.

And worst never remember that which they lost, or appreciate all they gained.

It's a burden that troubles him and yet not as much as it should.

Because the truth is, ever since Olivia had planted that seed of hope in his heart, he can't think of anything besides the thought of getting his daughter back.

The greater good is a convenient excuse to hide his real desire.

Of restoring his family.

A chance to see his daughter alive, a chance to do it right this time.

He'd give anything for it, to watch her grow up into a remarkable, beautiful woman, to be there for all her important milestones.

If they can go back that is.

* * *

This last night, he thinks about Olivia.

"What if everything changes?" She asks him.

 _What if I lose you all over again?_ She means. The redux of a cruel, cosmic joke the universe once played on them is not that implausible a thought. There's no way to rule out that repercussion for certain.

Their love always collateral to the grand design.

"It won't matter because you won't remember." He tells her with a wry smile, one she doesn't return. Her eyes are wide, troubled at the implication.

"How can you say that?"

"Because… anything is better than this. It has to be right?"

There's a hint of challenge in her eyes but she doesn't say anything, considering him with a careful expression.

"I just hope, whatever we go back to…you go back to, you'll finally be happy, like you deserve to be." He attempts another smile, undeterred by the grave and disapproving expression she wears, because he's sick that way and he can't help himself and because the bravado helps the paralyzing fear of never getting to see her after this day, of having everything he holds dear stripped away from him.

"Who knows, it might all work for the best in the end. Maybe you'll find the person you were always meant to be with."

A derisive snort escapes her throat. Her voice is beyond tired, not amused at all. "And who would that be?"

"Guess you'll find out." He sighs, reaching for a loose strand of hair that covers her forehead. "Maybe fate will intervene and you'll get the love of your life back instead of having to settle for second best. Like a thank you for saving the world half a dozen times. "

She shifts against him, her figure tensing, the hand resting on his chest dropping listlessly.

"It was never him." She meets his eyes with a knowing look, a piercing certainty darkening the greens of her own. "It was never John."

"Liv…" He wants to tell her it's okay. That he doesn't mind. That he never did but the muted indignation in her expression makes him stop in his tracks.

"You're  _not_  second best." There is a quiet fierceness in her voice, noticeable to someone who knew her as well as he did. "You never were, not since the day you walked into my life."

"Technically you walked into mine." The quip escapes him before he can stop it.

She ignores the comment and instead, brings her hand to his cheek, looking at him in that intense way that she so often did or used to in another life. "There is nobody in this world that I've ever felt even a fraction of what I feel for you and there never will be. I'd think someone as smart as you would know that by now."

It's said without any sense of grandeur, the tone of her voice, quiet and assured. But there is a startling honesty in her words. He wonders not for the first time, what he ever did to deserve someone like her.

"You're wrong you know about anything being better than this…" She looks away from him, her gaze lowering to his chest. "I refuse to go back to any world that doesn't have a place for you in it. I won't do it. So… you have to promise me that you'll come back to me."

Her voice is now unmistakably shaky, the undercurrents of fear explicit, an echo of his own. And as much as he wants to be brave and tell her that her worst nightmares weren't going to come true, he knows there's no guarantee. The gamble they're about to take is immense, not without risks.

"Olivia… we don't know…"

"I need you to promise." She cuts him off, her eyes pleading, almost begging him to assure her that it would all be okay.

So he does what he does best. What he's always done.

He simply gives her a smile. "You know what I was thinking…"

"What?"

"Vermont will be beautiful that time of year."

She laughs at that, eyes sparkling with genuine amusement for once. She moves closer into his embrace than should be possible for the space they had, placing a kiss to his chest.

"It will be won't it?"

"Liv…"

"Yeah?"

"I promise we'll go there okay?"

She nods, closing her eyes.

"I'll hold you to that." She whispers.

This last night…he hopes.


End file.
